


Tarantism

by Dumbelectricfish



Category: HBO Rome, Rome
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumbelectricfish/pseuds/Dumbelectricfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarantism - The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tarantism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hotspur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotspur/gifts).



> Prompt from and written for cassiusthebadwolf on tumblr.

Portia was sad and so Brutus was sad and the entire mood in their apartment was sad and Brutus felt like he was being smothered. If there was something he hated more than anything in the world, it was when Portia was upset. Work was stressful for her now, shit employees and shit customers and basically 95% shit, and he couldn’t remember a day in the last week that she hadn’t come home stressed and cranky and generally upset, becoming more so when she saw how it was affecting him.

Right now she was sitting at the dining room table with a glass of wine, browsing her computer without a word. Brutus was on the couch nearby, wanting to be sitting next to her but feeling purposeless when he was. 

Portia slowly took a sip from her wine, the clink of the crystal against the table echoing in the otherwise empty room, and Brutus spotted a bit of blood on one of her fingers. 

"Portia? What happened to your finger?"

She looked down at it. “Oh, split cuticle. I must’ve bitten it too hard.”

Brutus looked down at his hands. Portia never bit her nails. 

Out of nowhere, the silence in the room suddenly felt more oppressive than ever, and Brutus quietly stood up. Crossing the room, he turned on the soft classical music that Portia liked. It filled the room, masking the lack of conversation. Slowly, the piece—mostly violin and flute—began building, and Brutus realized he wanted to dance. He had always loved dancing with Portia. He raised the volume of the music a little. 

"Portia?" He held out his hand. She looked up at him. "Dance with me?"

"Brutus, I’m—"

"Please?"

She looked at him, then glanced at his outstretched hand and back to his face. He saw her smile. “Okay.” 

Getting up from the table, she took his offered hand and then his other one, moving to stand in front of him. After a second and because just standing there swaying was a little awkward, Brutus let go to put his arms around her waist, and hers went to the base of his shoulderblades. They settled into each other’s spaces with an old familiarity, and Brutus found himself smiling. She was so comforting. Just being close to her was comforting. 

Slowly, they began to sway with the music and then to waltz, Portia’s forehead moving to rest on Brutus’s collarbone. The music swelled and flowed and so did they, and Brutus felt his mood lifting. With each step they took they wiped up a little of the lingering stress and sadness to leave the floor a gleaming white beneath their feet, and Portia went from exhaustedly resting her head against him to taking a deep breath and holding him and moving with him; the pulse was returning to her fingers, wiping away that little spot of blood. 

When the song ended with a crescendo and a transition to the next, they paused next to the coffee table and stepped back a few inches to look at each other. Brutus was relieved to see a glow in her eyes again, and his own heart felt much, much lighter. 

"Better?" he asked.

She smiled, and it was real. “Much.”


End file.
